


Close to Home

by Biscay



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Nurse Crane Patron Saint of Gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biscay/pseuds/Biscay
Summary: When Valerie was seven, she wanted to work on the docks.





	Close to Home

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to @blueblue-baby on tumblr for prompting me to write this (& anyone else who told me to write this pairing. WHY is there not more fic for them). This is unbeta'd and not super fact-checked so sorry for any mistakes.

When Valerie was seven, she wanted to work on the docks, like her uncle Jack. She admired his strength, hefting crates and barrels on and off ships, and she squealed with delight as he lifted her up so high her small hands could touch the ceiling. 

“Don’t be silly,” Miss Denning had said sharply, returning their one-page, badly-spelled essays on _what I want to be when I grow up_. “Girls can’t work on dockyards.”

Confused, Valerie looks at her classmates’ assignments. The girls have overwhelmingly talked about the homes and children they’d like to have, the boys, no doubt enthralled by father’s, uncle’s, granddad’s stories of wartime heroism, have written about wanting to become soldiers. 

“What if I want to be a soldier?”

Miss Denning isn’t the first or last person to look down her nose at Valerie Dyer, but she’s the one she remembers most clearly. “Stop being ridiculous, girl. Of course you don’t.”

* * *

Joining the army was, with the benefit of hindsight, probably a mistake. Valerie’s quick and clever and prides herself on never giving up, but the harassment and bullying grinds her down, day after day. She expected disrespectful behaviour from the men - army doctors dismissive and rude, infantrymen with their lewd comments - but it’s other women that make her want to leave and find any other job.

She has a boyfriend, David, who’s using her for exactly the same reason she’s using him. The arrangement works perfectly, except where he’s got a group of navy men for camaraderie and companionship, Valerie is alone.

She sticks it out for far longer than she wants. Dyers don’t quit, and Valerie’s vice is pride, but when she’s threatened with Compulsory Withdrawal she hands in notice to become an Early Service Leaver. Which, after three years of service, feels more than a little unfair.

Her mum’s thrilled to have her back. There’s no judgement from her family for trying and failing, and she throws herself into bar work secure in the knowledge that it’s no less worthy than nursing, teaching, accountancy, law. The pub isn’t exactly home, but being back surrounded by familiar faces and accents feel like sinking into a warm bath.

She does miss nursing though. There’s similarities - breaking up fights, stemming blood, mopping up bodily fluids - but she doesn’t think about going back. Not until, of all people, a persuasive nun comes into her pub and makes her an offer she can’t refuse.

* * *

Valerie’s schools were always the local comprehensives where the rest of her family had gone, and religion didn’t play a particularly large part of daily home life. She never sought out the chaplaincy service while serving, and moving into a house full of nuns is quite an adjustment.

Not just nuns - the nurses are wonderful, and her concerns about working with women, most of whom are from more middle-class backgrounds than her own, are quickly laid to rest. She gets on like a house on fire with her new roommate Trixie. She unpacks her things, Nonnatus feeling more like a home already, and finds one or two items belonging to the previous occupant of her side of the room.

“Are these yours?” she asks Trixie, who’s sitting on her bed, perusing a magazine and sipping a lime soda. 

Trixie takes a look at the book and postcards and shakes her head. “I’m afraid not, Patsy must have left those behind. You mustn’t think badly of her, she’s the tidiest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing - she left in such a hurry.”

“Where should I-?”

“Delia’s taken custody of some things it wasn’t practical to bring. If you give them to her, I’m sure she’ll make sure everything gets kept together. She’s just across the hallway.”

“I’ll be right back then,” Valerie says, but doesn’t knock on Delia’s door right away. The lighting in the hall is poor, but she recognises the picture of Marlene Deitrich, can see that the copy of Virginia Woolf’s Orlando is well-thumbed enough to be a favourite. She smiles to herself and hopes that, when Patsy returns, they’ll have a chance to get to know each other. 

When she knocks on Delia’s door, there’s a long pause, and a “just a moment!”. When she answers the door even the evening light can’t hide her red-rimmed, puffy eyes. 

Valerie wants to ask what’s wrong, but if her suspicions are right it would probably hurt Delia more. “I found these in Patsy’s room. Trixie said you could look after them.”

“Oh yes - thank you, I’ll hang on to these.”

She hands over Orlando. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Delia looks at her, and Valerie wonders if she’s if she’s seen her at Gateways before, maybe hidden at the back of a room, slow-dancing with a redhead. 

There’s no way to ask, so Valerie says “Have a good night. And - and I hope she comes back soon.”

* * *

There’s a flutter of excitement around the breakfast table when Sister Julienne announces they’re expecting a new midwife. Valerie’s still the newest Nonnatun, and the strangeness of moving into a nunnery, unsure of what to expect, is fresh in her memory. She makes sure to give the newcomer the best welcome she can manage. 

The new midwife doesn’t arrive under the best circumstances. Half-frozen, luggage missing, bleeding from the knee, Valerie’s heart goes out to her as she sees her shivering on the doorstep. 

Any resident of Nonnatus including Sister Monica Joan is more than qualified to patch Lucille back up, but Valerie leads her with a squeeze of the hand to the kitchen. She makes them both tea, and gently cleans up her wound. Lucille watches her careful hands, still shivering a little from the cold. She smiles sweetly and Valerie’s nothing but professional but her heart sinks because _oh_. This is going to be a problem.

* * *

Lucille is more than capable of taking care of herself - she’s a grown woman, a fully trained nurse and midwife, and she’s travelled halfway around the world. But Valerie just can’t help her attentiveness, making sure that Lucille is as happy and comfortable as possible. She’s a little chilly at night without the big blanket her nan knitted, but it’s worth it to know that Lucille, used to the balmy temperatures of the West Indies, can sleep soundly.

Valerie knows what it’s like to feel far from home without a friendly face, and makes sure to invite Lucille to her and Trixie’s evenings of music and virgin cocktails. When Trixie’s away - with her boyfriend, or at meetings that Valerie suspects might be related to the lack of alcohol in their drinks - Lucille still comes in to see her. They talk well into the night, and Valerie loves hearing, in her beautiful lilting voice, about Lucille’s family back home, her thoughts on London, her training in the Westcountry, and previous life as a librarian. 

Valerie wonders if she’s ever read Orlando. Normally so brave, she’s too afraid to ask.

* * *

She’s always been proud to be from the East End. She hadn’t thought too much about it before her army days, but since being systematically bullied and humiliated for it she vowed to never be ashamed again. She isn’t, until she hears things come out of her friends and family’s mouths that make her clench her fists so hard that nails mark skin.

“Don’t you dare,” she says, an anger in her voice she’s not heard before, “we didn’t win a war against fascism so you could go on thinking things like that.”

She hates the idea that Lucille’s cycling around all day, hateful comments thrown at her by people Valerie might wave to on the street. Lucille brushes it off, gets on with her job, and promises it doesn’t bother her, but she still relaxes when Valerie takes her hand, thumb stroking circles in reassurance.

* * *

It’s not until the Miss Poplar beauty competition, entered purely on a whim, that she dares consider that the special friendship they’ve formed might mean as much to Lucille as it does to herself. 

She’s used to feeling a little ridiculous in front of an audience - teaching ballet, leading a panto - but it’s always good fun and she loves feeling part of her community. 

It’s so cheesy, so predictable, but it still takes her by surprise when she’s walking onto the stage of the Poplar Community Hall and even though all eyes in the room are on her, there’s only one person she notices. 

Off in the wings, big brown eyes shining with pride and admiration. Valerie had worried a little that the beauty competition - complete with its controversial swimsuit category - might earn disapproval from Lucille. She feels Lucille watch her strut about and thinks that, actually, Lucille might approve quite a bit after all.

* * *

They’ve both stayed in touch with the new mother who had time to make roti, patties, and stew for Nonnatus, and Valerie has used her tips, plus her own knowledge of the local area, to source any and all ingredients they might need. Food at Nonnatus is typically prepared by Mrs B, but Valerie and Lucille can increasingly be found in the kitchen, preparing meals and snacks for Lucille’s church group, Poplar picnics, and sides to accompany Nonnatus’ more traditional ham and egg salads.

“What culinary treats are you ladies preparing this time?” asks Nurse Crane, coming into the kitchen to make an evening horlicks. 

“I’m not sure you’d want to know, Nurse Crane.” Lucille says, self-consciously putting a lid on the pot bubbling away on the hob. 

“Young lady, I spent the better part of this afternoon redressing Mr Archer’s abscesses. Vegetarian I may be, but I’m not squeamish.”

“It’s goat curry. It’s one of my favourites, and Val’s found a shop that sells it.”

“Very resourceful of you, Valerie,” 

“Well,” she shrugs, like she didn’t have to cycle and take the tube to a desi-owned shop in Hounslow and back, “it’s her favourite.”

Valerie’s known dozens of women who are far, far scarier than Phyllis Crane. Her brand of stern exterior masking a soft inside doesn’t intimidate Valerie one bit, but the barely perceptible narrowing of her eyes, a momentary flick between herself and Lucille, makes Valerie’s blood run cold. 

“I see,” Nurse Crane says, giving nothing away. “I’ve got Está Hablando Español volume three waiting for me upstairs, so I’ll bid you both goodnight.”

“Goodnight Phyllis,” Valerie manages. 

Nurse Crane pauses in the doorway. Lucille’s returned to stirring the curry, making sure nothing sticks to the bottom of the pan and burns. 

“You know... it’s none of my business, but I’m pleased you’ve got each other.”

Valerie has no idea what to say to that, and Lucille doesn’t say anything either, so Nurse Crane takes herself and her horlicks upstairs. 

“She’s right,” Lucille says, not quite casual. “I’m grateful for you every day.”

“Me too.”

* * *

They’re snuggled up on the sofa in the corner that’s become theirs. The other Nonnatuns have headed to bed, one by one, but neither have made a move to one of the larger, comfier free chairs. 

Nurse Crane is the last one out, and gives them a warm nod before she heads upstairs.

“Nurse Crane isn’t very subtle.” Lucille observes. 

Valerie wants to pull back in surprise that Lucille is talking about the elephant in the room, but they’re leaning, almost lying, against each other. 

“About her approval.” she clarifies, after Valerie flounders.

“Yes.” she manages.

“Does it bother you?”

Valerie takes a fortifying breath. If Lucille’s going to be brave enough to talk about this, she can be brave enough to be honest. 

“That she doesn’t - wouldn’t - mind? No, it doesn’t.”

“You seem uncomfortable.”

She shakes her head. “Not uncomfortable.”

Lucille takes her hand. Valerie had never, ever planned to tell her anything about the way her heart jumps when Lucille looks at her, that she’s more physically affectionate with her than anyone else in her life, that she’s almost certainly fallen in love with her. 

Not because she’s ashamed of any of those things. She just knows she couldn’t bear it if Lucille looked down on her, eyes full of judgement. She should be used to it, shouldn’t be so sensitive after so much time, but she knows her heart, and she couldn’t survive it from Lucille.

“It’s just - there’s nothing to approve of, is there?”

“You’re good for me. That’s true, isn’t it?”

Valerie nods, not trusting herself to speak. 

“And I think-” Lucille is shy and blushing but smiling, and despite all her anxieties Valerie smiles too. “- I’m good for you too.”

“The best.”

Kissing a girl in one of Nonnatus’ communal areas isn’t the cleverest thing Valerie’s ever done, but as she closes the small gap between them to press her lips to Lucille’s, she knows she won’t regret it. One of Lucille’s hands is still holding hers, their fingers knotted together, the other comes up to stroke an unruly curl of hair at Valerie’s jawline. 

They pull back after a blissful few moments, and Lucille’s face shows nothing but happiness. Valerie feels guilty for ever expecting judgement from her, but Lucille kisses her again, on the cheek this time, and her anxieties melt away.

“Would you like to come upstairs?” Valerie asks, then blushes, “to talk, I mean. Trixie’s still away, and Phyllis won’t say anything.”

“We can talk,” Lucille says with a contagiously wide smile. Valerie stands and pulls her by their joined hands up from the sofa, and they make their way upstairs, “what would you like to talk about?”

As they make their way past the bedrooms where her friends are sleeping, to her room with its books and magazine-cuttings, with her best friend holding her hand like she doesn’t want to be parted for a moment, Valerie feels more at home than she’s ever done. 

“Have you ever read any Virginia Woolf?” she asks.


End file.
